


The Doubts That Plague You

by Hawkeye_918



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Fluff, M/M, a bit of the old hurt/comfort, implied dyslexic scout, medic and pyro arent there but they're mentioned, pyro is nb, red team - Freeform, scout is persistent, sniper is stressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 03:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17614988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawkeye_918/pseuds/Hawkeye_918
Summary: Sniper has been more withdrawn than usual, and that's saying something. Scout becomes determined to find out what's wrong.





	The Doubts That Plague You

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is my first tf2 fic and I hope you guys like it!

Downtime on the base was a precious thing. It was time to clear one’s head, to relax, to enjoy one’s self. It was common for the team to spend time together, to reinforce bonds forged on the battlefield. On one such day off, the bulk of the team was hanging out in the rec room.

 

Heavy was in the kitchen off of the room, heating up the leftover borscht he’d made a few days prior. Engie, Demo, and Soldier were seated at the table, enjoying some low-stakes poker. Scout was laying on the couch, sketching in his notebook and half listening to the Bob Dylan song playing quietly on the busted old radio.

 

“I see yer bet an’ raise you a dollar.” Engie said, putting a couple chips in the pot. He had a mediocre hand. 

 

Soldier chewed on the end of the fat, half-smoked cigar hanging out of the corner of his mouth. “Got any sevens?”, he asked, raising an eyebrow underneath his helmet.

 

Engie groaned and slapped his forehead. They’d been over this repeatedly, an his patience was wearing thin. Demo, who was thoroughly plastered and leaning back in his chair, a terrible combination, chortled goodnaturedly. Unfortunately, he leaned too far, and fell backwards. But this only made him laugh even more.

 

It was then that Sniper walked into the room. He nodded in greeting to the men at the table as he made his way into the kitchen. He emerged a minute later, a can of Coke in one hand and a salami sandwich in the other. 

 

“Hey, Sniper, you want in on the next game? I get the feelin’ this one is wrappin’ up”, Engie said, looking up from his cards.

 

“Aye, you can take my seat!”, Demo spoke up from the floor. 

 

Soldier snickered. Heavy covertly stuck his head out of the kitchen doorway to listen in on the conversation.

 

“Nah, mate, I’m good”, Sniper said, nodding curtly. This made Scout look up from his notebook. Sniper spending time alone wasn’t uncommon, the man _was_ rather introverted, after all. But regardless, it was rare indeed for him to turn down a good card game.

 

“You sure?”, Engie asked, a tad perplexed. 

 

“Maybe next time”, Sniper murmured, leaving to head back to his camper van, the door shutting abruptly behind him.

 

_”... Don’t think twice, it’s all right”_ , crooned the voice over the radio. 

 

Scout wasn’t so sure.

 

 

* * *

 

  
  


Scout became even more suspicious that something was off about Sniper a few days later, as the team was sitting down to breakfast. 

 

Scout had arrived early for breakfast, as he always did. Growing up in such a large family, it was always either show up first or risk not getting much of a meal at all. The habit had carried over when he’d moved out west. He had inhaled his scrambled eggs and was working on his bacon when he glanced up and realized Sniper was missing from the group.

 

Sniper would almost always be the first person down to breakfast so he could make the coffee to ensure it would be the way he liked it. Besides, showing up late to a meal at the base would naturally draw attention to you, and Sniper would rather all eyes not be on him, thank you very much. 

 

Noticing the comings and goings of someone, especial interest in their preferences and curiosity in their wellbeing could all very well be the mark of a good friend. Written on a Venn diagram, that would overlap with someone who has a helluva crush.

 

And Scout was in _deep_.  

 

Towards the end of the meal, Sniper had trudged inside, shirt wrinkled, one pant leg tucked into his boot and one not.  He ambled into the kitchen and was much chagrined to find there was only enough coffee left for half a cup. Just as well, he supposed. He didn’t have the stomach for much of anything, anyway. 

 

Spy had dish duty that morning. It was his least favorite chore, by far. Clad in an apron and rubber gloves, he stood at the kitchen sink, sponge in hand, scrubbing furiously at a maple syrup-covered plate. Why Pyro felt the need to positively drown their pancakes in the stuff, Spy would never know. As Sniper had entered the kitchen, Spy had planned to offer a half-hearted “Good morning” for the sake of proper societal convention and general politeness, when he noticed how absolutely out of it the other man looked. Spy might not have liked Sniper much, but he was in the business of observing people. He was debating what he should say, if anything, when Sniper left the kitchen with his coffee and sat down at the first empty seat he saw. As it happens, that would be right next to Scout. No sooner had Sniper sat down before Scout opened his mouth. _Please let him not say anything stupid_ , Spy thought, going back to work to avoid any potential secondhand embarrassment from listening to his progeny.

 

“... You, uh, you ok, pal?” Scout whispered, lightly elbowing Sniper in the upper arm. 

 

“Right as rain”, he replied flatly, coffee mug to his lips. 

 

Sniper did not seem keen to talk, and Scout didn’t want to push him. “Alrighty then”, Scout said, clearly not believing him, as he tossed back the last of his orange juice. 

 

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


If one had expected Sniper to be off his game in combat that day, they would be sorely mistaken. Maybe he had been a bit more… brazen than was his norm, dying a few more times, but having a higher kill count perhaps justified it.

 

Look through the scope. Line up the shot. Pull the trigger. Listen to the bullet _crack_ as it breaks the speed of sound. Watch the target fall. Change location every so often so the enemy doesn’t know which direction they’re getting their heads blown off from. Repeat for the duration of the match. He didn’t make any snappy comments to himself as he worked, however, as he was usually wont to do.

 

It had all been going swell until he’d heard the floor creak behind him. A calculated lunge with his kukri resulted in the previously cloaked BLU Spy being pinned to the wall behind him by his jacket sleeve. “This is not a good day to piss me off, you bloody bastard”, Sniper rumbled. And then he killed him. 

 

A good ten minutes later, Sniper’s peace was interrupted again.

 

The floorboards creaked, sneakers squeaked, as someone ran up the stairs behind him. He spun around, armed.

 

“Hey-- woah. It’s me.” His team’s Scout laughed nervously, putting down his scattergun. “Guess I shoulda known better than to sneak up on ya. Apologies, Stretch.”

 

“ ‘S fine, just a bit of a fright.” Sniper said softly. He took a moment to look at Scout. Scout’s shirt was rumpled, his forehead sweaty, and he had a decent-sized cut on his arm. Sniper appreciated how nice Scout looked in the soft light of the room. Their eyes met as they studied each other. Scout flushed. Sniper coughed and looked away.

 

“So, uh, anyway, just wanted ta see how you’re doin’.” Scout said sheepishly, absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck.

 

Sniper quirked an eyebrow. Scout had never dropped by to say hi during a match before. “... I’m alright”, he said, regarding the other man a touch warily, a touch hopefully. Hopeful for what, he didn’t know.

 

“Ok, we’re both good then. Cool.” Scout said, slapping his hands together in affirmation. When Sniper nodded, Scout flashed his 100-watt smile, grabbed his scattergun, then tore out of the room like a bat out of hell. 

 

Sniper smiled despite himself, then resumed his place at the window.

 

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


 

There had been a poster on the wall of one of Scout’s high school classrooms that read “Step by step, you travel distances.” The text was printed over an illustration of a hunched-over old man with a walking stick, climbing over rolling green hills. 

 

Halfway through the school year, the teacher had changed Scout’s seat to “mitigate his distraction”. It wasn’t like he was a bad kid, at least not in class. Ma valued learning, and she’d wring his neck, metaphorically of course, if he’d disrupted the other students. Scout’s issue was that he was not terribly interested in school. He would think he was copying the work from the chalkboard correctly only to look at his notes later and notice he’d mixed up letters and bungled words. It was disheartening and more than a tad frustrating. Even more so was the fact that every teacher he’d tried to get help from thus far had brushed him off. So Scout would doodle, jiggle his leg, drum his fingers on the desk, daydream out the window, anything but do his work.

 

His new seat had him against the wall, back to the window. He’d have to crane his neck at an awful angle to see the clock. It would appear the only thing Scout had to look at was the chalkboard. Or the poster next to it.

 

The rest of the year, Scout would stare at the poster and zone out, go into his own head. As an unintended consequence, the image of the poster became burned into Scout’s brain. Ten or so years later, he could still see it in the back of his mind. “Step by step, you travel distances.”

 

In the present, Scout was anxiously pacing the floor of his room. It had been a few days since he’d surprised Sniper at his post, and in the time since, Sniper appeared to have gotten worse. He looked a little paler, a little more unkempt. Scout had wanted to press the issue, but wasn’t sure if it was his place. He worried his lip in thought. 

 

Growing up, teachers had told Scout that he lacked determination and ambition. Truth be told, he had both in spades. 

 

“Step by step”, he whispered to himself, heading out of the base and in the direction of Sniper’s van.

 

 

 

* * *

 

  
  


It was a total scorcher that day. Sniper, dressed only in jeans, lay on his bead, looking up at the roof of the camper and thinking of nothing in particular. He could practically feel himself melting. The window was open in an attempt to get some ventilation going, but the breeze was pathetic. 

 

Sniper was miserable. He closed his eyes and sighed. He could go into the base where they had electric fans. Maybe he could get something to eat, too. It was well past lunchtime but hadn’t had a thing all day. But going to the base would require walking, which he was loathe to do in the oppressive heat. He’d also probably have to put a shirt on.

 

That was then that it occurred to Sniper that he didn’t have a clean shirt. He knew he needed to do laundry-- he’d been reminding himself of that for the last several days. He ordinarily might’ve-- key word might’ve-- worn a shirt a couple times before washing it. But if he was this sweaty, he knew it wouldn’t be a good idea.

 

Sniper swung his legs over the edge of the platform bed and looked over the interior of his camper. It was usually so spic and span, but now, he had a little pile of clothes next to the bed, dishes in the sink that needed to be done, and a couple empty mugs on the table. He hopped down from the bed. He took the mugs and put them in the sink. There. Progress. He could take a break now.

 

Except he couldn’t. Sniper looked down at the clothes on the floor and frowned. He was already up, he might as well. He stuffed the clothes into a laundry bag, then kicked it under his bed. That was step one done. Maybe he’d go out after dark to do his laundry, he pondered. It would be cooler out, and much less likely anyone would notice he was half-dressed. Much less likely he’d run into anyone at all, and Sniper liked the sound of that. 

 

Loud knocking on the metal door of the camper startled him from his train of thought. Right when he was about to go into panic mode, a voice called out.

 

“Yo Snipes, you home?” A beat of silence. “It’s Scout.”

 

Like it could be anyone else.

 

Sniper groaned internally. No part of the situation _‘The guy you’re attracted to is knocking on the door of the messy van you live in and all you’ve got to wear is a pair of old jeans’_ sounds enticing. But here was Sniper, and there was Scout, on the other side of the door. Bloody brilliant.

Sniper opened the door with as much aplomb as he could manage. “Yeah?”, he asked.

 

Scout took one look at Sniper standing in the doorway, bare chest glistening with sweat, and his brain short circuited. He paused. “Uh, hi. Can I come in?”, Scout said when he remembered how to speak.

 

Sniper looked backed over his shoulder at the inside of the van. It was decent enough, it would have to do. He just hope it didn’t smell or anything. “Alright”, he conceded, stepping back inside so Scout could enter.

 

Scout nodded and went inside. He’d been inside Sniper’s camper just a couple times before, and had always found it cozy. 

 

“Just decided to drop in?”, Sniper asked.

 

“Well”, Scout began, fiddling nervously with his hands, “forgive me if I’m crossin’ a line here, but… you been different lately, Snipes.”

 

“How so?”, Sniper inquired, folding his arms.

 

Scout searched the ceiling to find his words. “You ain’t been eatin’ right or talkin’ to nobody an’ ya look like you been replacin’ sleep with coffee.” He said tentatively.

 

Surely Scout couldn’t have wanted to check up on him, right? Who would want to do that? Why would anyone want to do that? Sniper considered this for a moment. “Did the other blokes ask you to talk to me? Or didja get the short straw?” 

 

“Nah, man, it ain’t like that!”, Scout said, waving his hands defensively, his voice going up an octave. He took a second to breathe. “I was just… worried, y’know?”, he said in an uncharacteristically soft voice.

 

“I appreciate that, but _I am fine_.” Sniper knew by now that he wasn’t fine, but he didn’t want to burden anyone with his problems, especially not Scout.

 

“Pardon my French, but that’s bullshit. You are so totally _not_ fine. And if ya ain’t gonna talk to me about what’s buggin’ you, at least talk to Doc or _somebody_.” Scout was incensed, and he wasn’t about to take Sniper’s lack of regard for himself for another second. 

 

Sniper exhaled sharply. He hadn’t wanted to do this. He really hadn’t. “...I’ve been awful stressed lately, mate”, he said in sotto voce. “This job can be a lot sometimes, even if we are all professionals... ”

 

Scout knew the feeling. He took a deep breath. “It's ok to relax sometimes. We all do somethin' to take the edge off. I know you were alone for a while, but you ain’t gotta be alone no more. You got all of us now, like it or not.”

Sniper chuckled, but stopped when he noticed the honest and pleading look in Scout’s sky blue eyes. 

 

“Promise me if you’re stressed you’ll talk to somebody, or play that thing”, Scout said, gesturing to the box Sniper’s saxophone was in. “Just promise me you won’t keep that stuff bottled up again.” He put a careful hand on Sniper’s bare shoulder. 

 

“I’ll try my best”, Sniper smiled, covering Scout’s hand with his own and giving it a light squeeze.

 

Scout grinned. He popped up onto his tiptoes to kiss Sniper on the lips. Sniper surprised as he was, kissed back. When they separated, Scout was beaming up at him.

 

“Now c’mon, it’s almost dinner time and Soldier’s makin’ chili”, Scout said, grabbing Sniper by the wrist and pulling him along.

 

“Oi- at least let me put on shoes first!”, Sniper said, freeing himself from Scout’s grasp. Scout leaned against the doorway to wait, still all smiles.

 

Sniper suppressed a laugh and rolled his eyes as he pulled on his boots. Things were going to get better, he could feel it.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! If you enjoyed please leave kudos/ a comment. Have a nice day! my tf2 blog is @teleported-bread on tumblr


End file.
